


Always Yours

by TimetravelingArchaeologist



Series: Sweep the Ashes, Let the Silence Find Us [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jaime's POV, Not really a missing scene, Not really an episode tag, show verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 18:31:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8068228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimetravelingArchaeologist/pseuds/TimetravelingArchaeologist
Summary: “It’s yours. It will always be yours.”  More than just the sword, a symbolic representation of the best part of himself, the only thing he had left of his honour, in her possession forever.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just an addition to the reunion scene for season 6 episode 8 "No One"  
> It's not a tag and it's not a missing scene, but I'm not sure what else to call it. Jaime's POV of the events I suppose.  
> This was written directly after the episode aired, and was at the time intended to perhaps be a part of a larger story. I will likely add to this in the form of a series, but for now it stands alone.

Jaime’s eyes shifted downwards and the barest hint of a smile flitted across his face.

Oathkeeper.

He glanced up to to the hilt of the blade, the pommel and quillons golden Lannister lions, and then to her impossibly blue eyes.

“You gave it to me for a purpose, I have achieved that purpose.” she said firmly.

He had intended for her to keep it, though she’d have protested if he actually had actually said those words when he first handed her the blade. It’s name alone had cemented it. He’d never be worthy of a sword that bore that name, nor worthy of the maid that wielded it. All he could do was hope that it shielded her where he could not. Hope that it helped her to keep the oaths she swore all too easily, and the oath that was half his. He would return to the ruins of the only love he’d ever be allowed to know, Cersei’s conditional love, and what was left of his broken family name. A less than wanted role since he’d met the lady knight, radiant in all but face, not that that mattered to him any longer. He could never be by her side, but the lions on the blade’s hilt could be.

“It’s yours. It will always be yours.”  More than just the sword, a symbolic representation of the best part of himself, the only thing he had left of his honour, in her possession forever.

The look that crossed her face made him wonder if she could hear the unspoken words. But then quickly she turned, accepting the blade without argument, and he pushed aside the idea.

“One last thing Ser Jaime.” He stopped and looked to her again, he hadn’t dared hope she’d stay any longer.

“Yes, _Lady_ Brienne?” he asked in a near playful tone.

“Should I fail to persuade the Blackfish to surrender, and if you attack the castle, honour compels me to fight for Sansa’s kin.”

“Of course it does.” Jaime’s words spilled out before he could stop them, sarcasm laced with disbelief. Damn her noble knight’s heart.

“To fight you,” Brienne added a little quieter.

He paused, the reality of the idea seeping in, and nodded near imperceptibly “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Her bottom lip quivered and her eyes looked as if they stung as badly as his did at that very moment. Whatever action or thoughts he might have taken, were he able to think on it too long, were lost to them both as she turned sharply and strode from his tent, leaving him there to watch her go.

 

\----

He watched her from a distance until she was gone from the camp. And later as he sat atop his horse, his heart was in his throat. Never before had the idea of battle made him pause like the idea that she’d be standing against him.

\---

 

With each step Jaime took across the stones that made up Riverrun, he silently sent a prayer to any of the Seven that he thought that might be listening, asking to find her before any of his men.

When he finally stood atop the battlements, watching the tiny boat drift down the river, his amazement of her having gotten out was tinged with a sadness. He cursed himself for the ache of watching her go. He was glad for her escape, but empty for her absence once more.

He gave a glance to make sure that he was alone and then he smiled a less crestfallen smile, and raised his hand to wave. He was unable to see if she had noticed, the light had faded from the sky, but he wanted to imagine that she’d returned the gesture.

He doubted that he’d ever see her again, and if he did, not on the same side of the battlefield.

Still, he selfishly hoped.


End file.
